


Sometimes We Fall Apart

by Kentrakshi (Sartorially), NoraPenblood



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Ending, F/M, God tiers, Gore, Guro, M/M, Might be some mild cannibalism, Multi, Murder, Stridercest - Freeform, Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, friends helping friends, graphic character deaths, im serious about the gore, lonely gods, sort of, sort of kinda, this shit is fucked guys forreal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sartorially/pseuds/Kentrakshi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoraPenblood/pseuds/NoraPenblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of them won.</p><p>But the prize is really the worst part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Not so bad here in the intro. TW for: suicide, alcohol abuse, murder
> 
> EDIT: I like to think, one day I'll rewrite or fix this, but it isn't super likely.

Millions of years in the past, eight kids played a game. This game brought about the apocalypse of their respective universes. They won the game, at great cost, and created a new universe.  
That was the goal. But sometimes prizes aren't as sweet as they seem to be.  
Immortality comes with a price. The children were no longer children, they had been wrenched from their lives and thrust headlong into something insidious. They defeated every foe, became gods in themselves, and in the end, they succeeded.  
However, this is the story of what came after. Of the lives of these lonely gods and of the scars they can never let heal.  
Because immortality comes at a cost.  
-—————-•  
Each of them had lost something, John knew. Each of them had lost their parents first, their guardians. Then they'd lost their homes, and finally, their worlds all together.  
They had gained their own planets, powers, and burdens. When he sleeps, he still sees his father's body and the blood-stained corpses of his friends.  
He chose to live on Jade's planet, by her side, once the new universe had come into being. It was beautiful watching it as it was born, like watching a supernova from a mile away.  
John had changed. They all had.  
At first, he thought it would be great! They would go back to normal eventually, right? Once everyone had settled down, they'd all be friends in paradise; a bunch of kids with the freedom of gods.  
However, as time stretched on unending, he saw more of himself and less of the people he'd called friends. He caught himself staring down at his hands for hours on end, remembering how each callous and scar had formed, recalling each deadly blow of his hammer.  
The first time he did it, it was an accident.  
He was rinsing a glass so that he could get some milk before bed. Really, he didn't have to do that, but he liked to keep things as normal as he could. He must've held it too hard because the next thing he knew, his hand was bleeding and there was a shard of glass embedded all the way to the bones. As he stood there and watched the blood ooze from the stinging cut, wash down the drain in a whirlpool of scarlet, he laughed.  
He laughed and laughed and laughed, the sound high and giddy, bordering on hysterical. Something was creaking as it prepared to snap.  
Jade found him slumped in the floor, glass embedded into his wrists and his back against the counter. the sink had overflowed. He was dead for five minutes and when he came back, he felt new and alive and pure.  
Jade hadn't said anything to him. He wished she would've yelled.  
After that, they didn't speak much. She began to avoid him, stalking the halls and muttering to herself. He kept to himself, kept looking at his hands and wishing they were as smooth and innocent as they had been in another lifetime.  
He was finding that being a god wasn't so great.  
———————————••  
Dave Strider was getting old. He felt it in the very core of his being. As a matter of fact, he knew exactly how many milliseconds his sorry ass had existed since the moment he was born.  
He had moved in with Dirk by way of them both forming an unspoken pact. They had both lost their brothers, so they would pretend. Dave had been neurotic about it at first.  
He had watched Dirk's every move, charted every minute tic and augmented his own memories with them. Because in a way, Dirk was his Bro, right? They had the same accent, that same seductive southern drawl, whereas Dave had fought to destroy his own Texan twang, never managed to make the transition from "hick voice" to "southern charmer" as smoothly as Dirk had. As Bro had.  
He watched the way Dirk's hands moved, the way they filled out those worn gloves.  
He counted seconds, recounted bodies.  
He had nightmares.  
He never slept.  
He supposed that the worst part about it all was that there was nothing /new/. Sure, the universe at their feet evolved every day, but it was stupid. A generic knockoff version of a place he'd once known. Of an apartment with broken air conditioning, a tall man with a lot of swords, a lot of puppets, and a meek, self-esteem-less little brother.  
A place that had been home for so long but not nearly long enough.  
————————•••  
Rose Lalonde was drunk. It took a hell of a lot of circular arguments to convince herself that this was okay now. After all, who was she harming? She lived alone in her big house with the reminders of her mother.  
So she drank, day in and day out. And she tried to forget the fact that she had lost her mother, her mother's double, and the girl who she'd been head-over-heels for over the space of one video game.  
Her friends never called, but in their defense she knew they were just as fucked as she was. She caught glimpses of their own private struggles; of the games Dave played when he thought noone saw and of the growing list of scars John and Jade were collecting.  
Yes, they all had their methods of coping, so why shouldn't she?  
—————••••  
Jade Harley had never been a cruel girl, before the game. Then again, she'd not been a lot of things before the game. Not half dog. Not so angry nor so jaded.  
Something had happened to her. Something fundamental had been bastardized in her very DNA, because although her friends had brought her back to life and saved her from the dark, dark place she'd been forced... She hadn't come back whole.  
She guessed they all had problems. She guessed they could all fuck themselves.  
The first time she found John dead hadnt scared her. It had given her an outlet, an inspiration.  
The first time she killed herself, she'd shot herself in the mouth and been healed six and a half minutes later.  
The first time she attacked John, he laughed while she tore his throat out.  
That one took longer and felt better.  
And so, their own game began.


	2. Chapter 1 - Dirk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk Strider suffers in silence.   
> An angel appears unto him, unwittingly offering a solution.

Dirk had found it remarkably easy to stop caring. He wondered to himself if it had to do with the fact that his god tier was so destructive to matters of the soul or if it was only in his own battered self. The first thing, and the hardest, was to forget about Jake and Roxy and Jane. His dearest, closest companions for so long who now existed only as matter and atoms floating in the makeup of the new universe. Their bones had become starlight. 

Once he’d managed to stop the nightmares, to stop reliving each and every moment he had watched them struck down; where he’d watched the cooling corpses spattered in blood and somehow already known that they would not rise again. Known that there would be no light show for them this time… Once he’d become capable of that, it had all become easier. 

Jake died a hero, of course he did. He died as valiantly as he had always tried to live; saving the life of a girl who shared his DNA. 

Roxy’s death still haunted him, reminded him of the days when she’d feed the starving carpacians, drunk but determined to save lives. He could still see the back of her shirt when the blood turned the blue fabric black, still heard his own howls of pain as if he’d been the one who was stabbed. It should’ve been him. It was meant for him.

The tips of that gold trident had always been carved with his name on them, but somehow they only ended up killing the ones he loved. Prince of Heart. Destroyer of the fragile and the cherished. 

Jane he had found after. By that point there’d been no one to ask why it had stuck, but he thought it probably had to do with that goddamned CrockerCorp trash that had taken her over. Because Justice is blind and so is fate. The nightmares of her always ended with his hands around her throat, and he wasn’t sure why. 

And so, when the new universe was born like a phoenix from the ashes of their own, it had not felt like a prize but like a curse. There had been celebration but it felt obligatory. There was comforting but it was always with the unspoken “glad we all lived instead” hanging on the end of it. Not a single person who’d survived that game had survived it without being broken into pieces. 

He could see each fracture, read all the pain on the other kids faces, but he turned away. He would never be able to fix any broken hearts. The best he could do was stitch someone up, but really, why would that even be necessary? Why should he try to help, when all of his efforts would be null? 

So he turned away from the others, he hadn’t known them so well anyway. It was easy to cut ties. In part, he knew, this was because none of them wanted to deal with him. He was mopey and prone to fits of rage, random hallucinations. He was a trainwreck that no one wanted to deal with, and he didn’t blame them.   
He became a recluse, not that it really mattered. When you’re a god, you can go eons without even moving and still find yourself alive. He lost weight, sure, grew sallow and moody. Sometimes he caught himself talking like one of his friends was there to listen. But he did not die. 

And over time, that became his only obsession. He wanted to die. He had no idea what would happen now that the game was over, but he couldn’t help but imagine a peace at the end of the hellish tunnel that had become his life. It had to end some time, right? 

He was still musing on this, still stewing on ways he could force it, ways he could push the rules so that his death was either just or heroic, when there was a knock at the door. 

His head lolled lazily to the side on the sofa where he was laying. His shades were held to his chest with one hand. As a matter of fact, he’d held them that way for atleast a week. He cleared his throat, imagining cobwebs having formed there, and spoke his first words for months. “Who is it?” His tone was a croak, unused and scratchy. 

The voice that came in return was only the slightest of surprises. After all, there weren’t so many choices now. “Uh… Look, man, like, I know we ain’t all hells of close or nothin’ but I was sorta gettin’ worried over there on LOHAC and, like, noone else is fuckin’ answering me so can I come in and chill on your couch or some shit? If not, and like, I’m totally invading your privacy like the most unholy of invaders then tell me to fuck right off and I will ollie the hell right on out of here…” His rambling was like a godsend. 

In Dirk’s unwhole state, he sat up slowly and turned to the door. “Fuck man, shut up and come in.” He gave a laugh that sounded neither goodnatured nor amused. Just a reflex. Just a noise. There was dust on his lips and ice in his veins. 

Dave was obviously nervous, as usual, but when he opened that door and took two long strides inside like he was the most confident person in the universe, well, he was an angel. And the first words he spoke since seeing his ecto-sibling the last time, “Dude, you look like shit.”

As it was, Dave didn’t look so great either. There was soot on one corner of his mouth, like he’d been eating ashes or something, and his hair was a mess, greasy and limp against his skull. His shades covered his sunken eyes, but Dirk could tell by the contours of those sharp cheekbones that he’d been fasting as well. He had grown twitchy over the days and months and years, hands never stopped fidgeting against his sides. He licked his lips, compulsory. 

Dirk hadn’t known how to make his death just, but all of a sudden here it was. He gave a nod, stretching and making his back crack so many times it sounded like someone had let off a series of firecrackers. Dave flinched. Dirk noted it. “Don’t we all, man?” He gestured lazily for Dave to sit. There was no need to hide a condition that was so readily apparent. 

 

And when Dave Strider took the seat beside his non-brother, it was like a fly nestling itself willingly into the web of a spider. Because the boy who Dirk saw beside him was a reflection of himself. He was his brother, he was the Alpha and the Omega of his existence. And Dirk was going to rip him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod I made myself so sad killing them off. sob.


	3. Chapter 2 - Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are brothers for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers being cute and cuddly

Dave was in the habit of picking at his fingernails. They never really grew; every time he chewed them down to the cuticle they came back the same length as before, but never longer. He thought that was a pretty good analogy for his own situation. He would never grow, only tear himself open and regenerate. The same. Unchanging. It was enough to drive you mad. 

But no, the thing that was really driving him crazy was the time. Seconds, milliseconds, minutes, hours. They ticked along in his head with a near audible click. It was always there, a universal clock in the back of his head, ticking on and on. He could never escape it, never be unaware of the time going by, of the age that he was growing mentally while his body remained in purgatory, forever seventeen. 

That was what had driven him to Dirk’s doorstep. He knew that Jade would bite his head off if he complained, and he didn’t want to trouble Rose any more than he already had. John was out of the question. So he stood there, in front of a mimicry of his own front door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He was pleasantly surprised when Dirk had welcomed him in, but something about his ecto-sibling had been the slightest bit off-putting. Maybe it was the way he laughed, or the way he moved like an unoiled machine. Or maybe it was the way he was staring at him, like he was the key to something. However, he brushed it off, thinking that, after all, Bro had always been weird, and Dirk had been through seven more layers of shit than Dave had. He had a right to be a little odd. 

Smiling awkwardly, crossing his legs, he opened his mouth to ramble once more, fingers tap, tap, tapping on his thigh. “So, uh, what have you been up to? Like, have you got any hobbies, or broke a record of jerk-off sessions, or-” 

Dirk put up a hand and Dave fell silent in an instant. It was like he’d been trained to do so, to obey his brother no matter what. Dirk(Bro) huffed out a breath and carefully placed his shades back on his face. “Dude. Chill out.” Dave gave a tense little nod. It was like Dirk’s words had drained anything that might’ve been willpower out of him.

That was when he realized it, of course. That Dirk(Bro Bro not quite Bro but Bro all the same) was something like a saviour. He would take all the responsibility from Dave, if he only let him. No more being strong. His shoulders sagged and he leant back against the cushions of the futon. “...Right. Yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Tense.” He gave a nervous little laugh, eyes flitting over Dirk’s face. With his shades on, the resemblance was striking. That cold, emotionless gaze. The contours of his face were younger, his cheekbones more prominent, but he was his brother. He was Bro. 

Dave felt like crying, but he didn’t. He just sat back and watched as Dirk reached over and, with much derision, removed his sunglasses. He sat them in Dave’s lap and gazed into his red eyes. His throat felt thick, his heart pounding. Everything in his body suddenly screamed to run, danger, and he didn’t know why. Such simple gestures were certainly no threat. 

But, oh, Dirk put his hands on either of Dave’s cheeks and leaned forward, slow. When their lips met, it was bliss in the sandpapery feeling of dry skin on dry skin. Dirk murmured one quiet sentence, “I’ll take care of you, lil man.” But then his grip tightened and with a brutal, contained twist, he’d snapped his brother’s neck. 

Dave’s body collapsed like a sack of potatoes back against the futon, and Dirk laughed. He laughed and laughed until tears were soaking his face and running all the way down to the collar of his shirt. He cradled Dave’s body to his chest and his laughter turned to something like howls of pain, sobbing because of what he was becoming and what he was willing to do. Snot was running down his chin, his face red and splotchy from crying, when Dave was enveloped in that life-giving light. Dirk held him through it, felt the tendrils of light brush his skin like the sweet kisses of hell itself.

The first thing Dave saw was his brother’s face. 

The first thing he did was smile. 

It would all be okay now, he was sure of it. He sat up and gently wiped at Dirk’s face with the sleeve of his own shirt, murmuring ‘thank you’’s and ‘I love you’’s. Dirk held him close and smiled until his dry lips cracked, until his face was strained with the expression. 

They were brothers, after all. And what are brothers for?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you liked this, my blog is striderfvcker.tumblr.com
> 
> My SFW ao3 account is http://archiveofourown.org/users/striderfvcker/pseuds/striderfvcker
> 
> and if you feel like buying me a coffee: [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A850LD4)


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